Convergence
by Covalent Bond
Summary: "I didn't think I would like the tub the first time..." -Temperance Brennan


**Warning! Author's Feeling a bit Frisky:** Three ideas converged to spawn this story: one moment, one prop, one line. No one tackled this yet and it needed to be done by someone. Right? Well you know what they say: "In for a penny, in for a pound." I'm in for a pound and then some. This is very M rated, which is unusual for me. There is explicit adult activity plus Booth's randy thoughts employing a liberal sprinkling of impropriety. It's one of the most 'Mmmy' things I've ever written.

(Why look at that, I've just coined a term: "Mmmy." … "MMMMMmmy." It's a word and a ratings scale, both at once! :P So this particular story is "MMMMmmy.")

In other words, **not suitable for kids or workplaces**.

**Episode Tags:** Two 'old school' episodes are referenced herein—_Pain in the Heart_ (season 3) and _Man in the Outhouse_ (season 4)—by way of two relatively recent episodes_: Mystery in the Meat_ (season 9) and _Geek in the Guck_ (season 10).

~Q~

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><p><strong>Convergence<strong>

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><p>~Q~<p>

_"I didn't think I would like the tub the first time."_  
>~ Temperance Brennan<p>

~Q~

It started out as a coincidence, the monumental sort that no one would believe possible because — as Bones was fond of saying — 'the odds of multiple independent variables converging in such a way' were not exactly running in a betting man's favor. Given that Seeley Booth ended his betting days a long time ago, he wouldn't have placed a single dime on this.

You see, they'd had an argument at work today.

Now that Bones was in a 'delicate condition' — and boy, did he have to word _that_ delicately because to suggest that early gestation might have adversely influenced the temper of one formidable Dr. Temperance Brennan was to invite a beheading, which just goes to show he was right to word everything carefully these days even while she swore it wasn't necessary. The fact that they'd argued pretty much proved he was right, things were different, and she wasn't nearly as rational as she claimed.

The crazy one is always the last one to realize they're crazy.

And Bones was driving him crazy but Booth was pretty sure she'd gotten there first because of the pregnancy. Not that he blamed her — a little crazy was guaranteed at this point. Her body was changing, there were so many changes they were going through together even before the pregnancy, and every time he was sure he couldn't possibly love her more she upped the ante and nothing had upped it higher than seeing that little bulge start to pop out below her belly button. He was crazy about her.

Which was why he'd said what he did in the bullpen.

Right?

Nobody can blame a man for trying to protect what he loves most.

Bones in a 'delicate condition' meant Booth had wisely (or, depending on how you look at it, _unwisely_) suggested she not come with him to arrest a particularly dangerous ex-con. For Booth, it was all about managing risk but for his partner, his concern boiled down to implied incompetence. Already feeling insecure about her capabilities (what with the nausea and all), telling her to stay behind (like a good little girlfriend) was the proverbial last straw. She was furious at the sidelining, all the more so because their sexual relationship was still very much hidden in the bedroom closet and that meant Bones couldn't call him out for chauvinism the way she very much wanted to. All she could do was choose between exposing her deepest anxieties regarding their increasingly complicated relationship (in full view of a dozen fascinated witnesses), or stomping away.

She stomped away.

Booth knew this would not be the last of it, however.

(This led to the second of the many variables that had to line up perfectly in order for the coincidence to commence, the first being that passionate and unfinished argument.)

The next thing that happened was completely expected under the circumstances. Booth phoned her at six asking if she needed help with the paperwork — code for were they getting together that night — and received her curt reply. "I am not so feeble as to be incapable of lifting a pen."

Right. She's still pissed.

Home alone went he, straight into his apartment that looked surprisingly empty without her. It had only been a couple of months since their couplings began and they were still working out the kinks. Bones needed solitude more than Booth had anticipated, for example, so even when she spent the evening with him here, she always ended up home on her own. Only when they went to her place did Booth get to spend a whole night with her (because he simply refused to leave). It was not so contentious as it sounded, honest. But now, being reminded of how quickly he'd grown to love her presence in his home, even knowing she wouldn't stay the night, he was surprised by the void greeting him at the door, one that had yawned open in her absence.

Now he was seeing how much he could miss her, especially as the snit threatened a lonely Boneless night in his apartment.

The only reason he didn't just go to her place was knowing she needed additional time. Bones could be prickly under even more genial circumstances and these weren't exactly genial. Exhausted, still stressed over her intern's recent death, frequently nauseated, his partner had become temperamental and required longer cool-downs between melt-downs of late. Going too soon would just send her into overdrive again so Booth went home.

Though he did not look forward to the waiting, Booth knew she would come around when she was ready. Temperance Brennan was not one to leave things when 'the last word' on a matter was still in his possession so she would definitely come around when she was ready to continue the argument. He could look forward to another spate (or three) of bickering before they got this newest wrinkle ironed out between them.

No, their argument wasn't over so much as in a time out and the clock was ticking.

As for Booth, he was still fairly strung out.

The arrest hadn't gone smoothly. Booth was damn glad his partner wasn't there to scare the hell out of him, not least because they'd all been shot at. If she knew, Bones would blow a gasket, an entirely different one. So it was just as well she didn't know, just as well she didn't come and witness first hand his near shooting because the balance of what he had to live for had finally swung so overwhelmingly in favor of '_can't die now, damn it!_' that Booth had actually been terrified.

There's nothing like being shot at to make a man want to contemplate the meaning of things (and this, being shot at, was the second big coincidence).

It was a lot to take in when he was already worn out from his clashes with Cranky Bones today. Time apart might actually be beneficial for _him_ as much as it was for her. For one thing, Booth had to find a way to convince his crazy partner to stay out of harm's way, but in a way that wouldn't put Booth himself in harm's way.

When he needed to relax and think, Booth always headed for the bath.

(This, you see, was coincidence number three.)

Stripping dispiritedly while the hot water flowed into his claw-foot tub, Booth pawed through a catalog of old vinyl albums, trying to capture a mood. Which best suited his current funk? '_Somewhere Between Heaven and Hell?_' Yep. This one.

(Coincidence number four.)

The turntable was ready to receive, all that remained was assembling the other necessities for a relaxing night in. Beer hat, fully loaded —check! (Coincidence number five.) Cigars —check! (Number six.) Graphic novel, better yet, the latest Green Lantern —check! (On to number seven with a bonus number eight! We're on a coincidental roll here.)

Sinking down, Booth settled his aching bones into the hot bliss while the music played and the mirror steamed. The cigar was lit, the smoke filing his nostrils more than his lungs — because it was more about ambiance and a sense of forbidden pleasure than nicotine or the taste. (Truth to tell, he didn't like the taste.)

So there he was with the music playing, nicely steaming, smoke streaming up from the tip of a lit cigar while bitter beer flooded into his very satisfied mouth and his eyes were glued to the colorful story unfolding in the pages of his comic book — every sense in paradise, you see? — and Coincidence Number Nine came slamming through the door.

"We need to talk!"

(Oh, the words? Damn near coincidence number ten. The gambler gives them a 9.5 for intent.)

And she's wearing a black coat, belted tight, her dark brown hair tumbling wildly around a flushed and furious face. She looks just like she did that night, so pissed off and beautiful that Booth is stunned at the convergence of coincidences that have led to this moment. He's pretty sure they're up to coincidence number twelve when she rips the needle off his record — _Bad Luck_ for the poor song because this is the second time she's scratched it — and turns to attack Booth on matters of trust.

"Why did you cut me out today. We're partners!"

_"Why wasn't I told?"_

"I was following protocol," Booth defended.

"Protocol?"

_"You've broken protocol before, sometimes putting my _life_ in danger."_

"The guy was armed and dangerous—"

"I've gone with you to arrest dangerous suspects before!"

_"Don't you trust me?"_

"Yeah, but—" This time it's different. If she got hurt because of him….

"This is because I'm pregnant, isn't it."

"No!"

It's not just that. It's … everything.

The worry over her getting hurt is never far from his mind — never has been in all the years he's known her — but lately, those worries are an obsession. He senses blood, on his own chest (where it's been before when he took a bullet for her two weeks before that coincidental argument from their past) and on Vincent's frail squinty chest (where they both so painfully and recently watched too much blood bleeding out of the kid), and on her. Because he's acutely aware of the fact that if Vincent wasn't there he'd have given that phone to her. Then she would have been the one bleeding to death while he helplessly watched her fade.

"I am no less your partner now than I was a week ago, or three months ago, or … or three _years_ ago! So I do not see why you feel you need to treat me as if I'm incapable just because I am currently gestating your progeny."

He sits upright in a rush because she's wrong, it's not about her being pregnant — it's about her being _her_. Stubborn, beautiful, loving, funny, occasionally reckless, one of the few lights in his world and the fact is, he's not sure he can live without her. The very thought of losing this woman and all that she carries inside her is the most terrifying thing Seeley Joseph Booth has ever faced.

"It's not that," he shouts back, the ease he'd experienced only moments ago falling wetly to the floor (along with the towel he'd slung over the tub's edge). "The guy was one of those apocalypse junkies, okay? With a whole _dungeon_ full of automatic weapons and enough ammunition to hold off the Russian army single-handedly. I wouldn't have let you come no matter what, damn it!"

"You were shot at! You could have died and—"

And being shot, dying, leaving _her_ behind, is the second most terrifying thing. It's what he faced today.

It's all converging on them.

Her tirade abruptly halts as Booth's leap to his feet startles her. She is startled but not distracted from her purpose. Last time she employed a rather impressive level of self-control in keeping her eyes north of the border and this time she does the same even when there's far less of a need. (Bones has become an expert on the lay of his land after traveling the landscape so often during the last few weeks.) So the fact that she's determined to hold out even when faced with not-so-forbidden fruit…?

This, finally, is the last coincidence that he just can't stand to let go.

A perfect storm of coincidences, clashing systems converging in one tiny space.

He wants her to look.

He wants her to _yield_.

"Bones, come here."

The pitch of his voice is threaded with intensity, piercing her with the same epiphany he's just experienced. The gaze finally strays, just a little, even as her lips firm into an apprehensive line. "No."

Deliberately, he sets the graphic novel on a chair beside the tub and with equal care he crushes the cigar out. "Come here."

"No." Bones steps backwards instead and he's surprised by her reticence. "What are you doing?"

What he's doing is not giving in this time. He will do anything to protect her, up to and including getting shot or facing her fury in the nude, completely unarmed. (After all, he's done both before and managed to survive.) The only way to win this round, Booth decides, is to turn it around. "Haven't you ever wondered…?"

She swallows uneasily.

"About that night…"

"No." But her voice isn't quite as steady as usual.

Booth wonders if that means she's telling the truth, that she's only just thinking of it now for the first time. Or is she merely refuting his intention.

They've been together many times since then, dozens, probably hundreds. They've been insatiable, christening every horizontal surface in both their homes (and quite a few vertical spaces as well), but not in here. And that, Booth realizes, is an unforgivable oversight on his part. How the hell could he have failed to think of this, the fantasy that is one of his oldest and dearest because it combines all the pleasures of the flesh with Bones.

"I have." The effect on her is visible as she realizes this is not a spontaneous whim on Booth's part. He's serious, standing nude and ready as the thoughts take form in the air between them. "I imagine you walk over here to me. You're looking me over, licking your lips. You can't decide where to begin."

"I couldn't decide where to hit you," she spits with eyes averted now. Her cheeks are pink, though, and her breasts are heaving faster beneath that tightly belted black coat. "I dearly wish to hit you, Booth."

"In my fantasy you kiss me." Her eyes come back to his, surprised. "You kiss me, Bones, like the first one in the summer rain. Steamy, sexy, I get hard just thinking of the way you kiss me."

True to his word….

She notices, even though she's trying very hard not to. Just like that night. And she's still angry, just like that night, only this time she's spoiling for a bigger fight. He's turned the tables on her and she's scared. He's one of the only lights in her world, too, and for two weeks it went dark. "I do not wish to recall that night—"

Her voice catches, breathy, torn between anger and desire, fear and lingering grief never fully expressed. Those pained eyes have latched onto his chest on the upper right, above his nipple and below his collar bone, hanging on a space she's often touched over the last few weeks. Every time they make love she touches it, the wound he took for her. Not one word has ever passed her sweet lips but countless touches from tender fingertips.

"Why not?"

"It was the day of your funeral."

"You didn't want to go." And that has always hurt, that she would refuse to mourn him publicly. That, as far as he could tell, she had refused to mourn at all.

Drawing a furious breath, she steps closer at last and flays him with her eyes alone, and that's before she even speaks. "Why would I _want_ to attend your funeral, Booth. How could I possibly _want_ to go to there?"

She's nearly close enough now, his provocations bringing her near.

"You think that's what I want?" Steam swirls between them, half-hiding the meaning of his question. One breath out spins the question, turns it around and sends it back the other way.

She finally gets it.

In that moment the hurt comes full circle, the steam condenses into streams on her cheek and such a look of hopelessness he has never seen before. She has realized what he already knew, that neither one of them will ever win this argument.

"Bones, come here…."

Surprisingly, she does. One last step puts her within reach but she balks at the last moment, a half sob softening her complaint. "I can't take you seriously while you're wearing that brewer's dispenser."

Booth doesn't need beer when something sweeter is standing by.

He's out of the tub now because she's giving in and Booth is open-minded enough to take his fantasy any way he can get it. There's water sluicing off him and puddling on the floor as he stalks towards the counter and lays the beer hat to rest in his sink. When he turns back, Brennan is watching him walk toward her with forgiveness in her eyes so he takes her hand.

"I love you…." The first kiss is sweet.

"I hate you." The second is spicy, because she means the exact opposite.

"I know." The third lasts seventy seconds, ending only when Booth feels the first shiver of cold air turning out goose flesh. Without her full awareness of what he's got in mind, Booth steps backwards towards the tub and brings her with him.

"Come here," he murmurs, seducing her by centimeters as his mouth dances over hers and his fingers find the knot keeping her closed. While his tongue knots with hers, his hands work at loosening the belt. Two hands come up to clasp his shoulders, indecisive at the last when they touch him and feel firm, smooth skin and waver between pushing or pulling. Booth attacks her undefended throat, marveling at the erotic thrill when her groan rumbles low against his lips and her head tilts backwards. Her fingers flex tighter.

The knot is untied, her coat shoved off her shoulders but held in place by her hands still grasping his biceps. "Off," he commands. Her arms fall just long enough for the coat to fall to the floor then he's pulling her back against him.

She fully clothed still, he fully naked.

Nimble anthropologist digits dance across his shoulders, triangulating over his scapulae before pitching downward to flare over his buttocks. As Brennan concedes, her kiss deepens, her mouth hot and charming his. No words can ever express how _much_ he loves kissing her. The way she rubs and nuzzles, licks and hums…. And then her skilled hand flutters south, seeking leverage. If she finds it, she'll use it.

That's why, a second later, he's groaning and pulling apart from her, fighting against the buttons of her shirt while she's trying to tug him towards the bedroom. "No, here." He murmurs this against her ear, breath hot and fingers plucking her shirt open button by button.

"Where?"

It's off, sliding down, the shirt gone and forgotten so Booth goes to work on her bra. Breasts tumble into his waiting palms and he notes with rapture how they've become fuller. Softer, almost spongy. The texture is different.

"Right here." Booth moans into her mouth, closing two grateful hands over her sweet flesh.

She jerks, withdrawing herself abruptly. "Ow, that hurts."

"Sorry, they're just so … I love your tits." He's forgotten about that, the fact that pregnancy has made her breasts too tender to withstand his ardor. With mild reluctance he releases her and moves to divest her of her pants.

"Booth, 'tits' as you call them, are the projections of the mammary gland…."

With the loss of his kiss her intellect is charging up again, so Booth hurries to free her from the fabric encasing those long, luscious legs. The pants are off. They and her boots he flings into a corner and then he's sliding his palms up her thighs, grinning straight across the span of those gorgeous hips where silk fabric rests, pressing caresses against the soft swell that is his growing child.

_My baby. My baby inside my Bones._

She's still lecturing in that breathy, slightly condescending tone that has been turning him on since the day they met. He lets her go with it, loving the sound of her voice, the vibrations rolling under his lips on her belly as he skims upwards across her exposed skin and his hands travel in the opposite direction, taking that scrap of silk with them.

Bones catches him with "…farm animals," stated in a most disapproving tone that finally lifts his eyes to hers. She's clearly waiting for a rebuttal but he hasn't been paying attention. Also, he's rather stunned that she has consented to being stripped, the argument between them seemingly forgotten.

"What?"

Exasperated, Bones steps back and glares at him. "I am _not_ a farm animal."

"No…" Stalling, thinking it must have something to do with 'tits,' Booth flashes the richest charm smile he can muster under the circumstances. Unfortunately she's waiting for more and he's got nothing.

"You haven't listened to a word I said!"

"No, I _was_ listening to you, I just wasn't … paying attention … to the actual _words_."

"Why not?!"

"Because I'm trying to figure out how to get you into the bathtub."

Those stormy eyes narrow and she's tightening into a sweet little cyclone right there in his bathroom, which means she's going to whirl right out the door, naked notwithstanding.

"In the….? I don't want a bath, Booth! I don't like them, the thought of marinating in a soup consisting of my own cast off epithelial cells…"

Laughing, he sweeps her up against him and shuts her up with a blitzkrieg of a kiss. Any shivers growing from the cold on his still-damp skin are transformed into shudders of delight at the prospect of getting her into that warm water with him. Her satin skin, smoothed with silky soap under his hands. Her hair floating in a nimbus while he strokes her into ecstasy. Her body writhing in the waves as he takes her under.

He can't wait: now that he's thinking about it Booth is halfway to ecstasy himself. "I want you in my bathtub," he murmurs against her throat, the moment he releases her mouth. "Ever since that night, Bones, I've wanted to fuck you in my bathtub."

"The water is dirty and furthermore it will inhibit lubrication—oh, God!"

Testing the waters, Booth snakes a finger between her thighs and fishes for evidence that she doesn't need to worry. As he hoped, she is slickly inviting, her objection to his plan abruptly derailed by the teasing stroke against her deliciously sensitive reset button. A few sizzling passes against that solid little nub and she's becoming ever more amenable to his plans.

His kisses and her sighs, his strokes between her thighs, have her on the verge of surrender within minutes. Meanwhile, Booth's own body is threatening an explosion. Now is the time to press his plea, when she's verging on incoherent. "Please, Bones, let me take you in my tub. I need to know…"

"Know … what…?" Eyes rolled back, her body tensing as pleasure ramps up, she can barely get the question out.

"Which is hotter, you or the water."

Bones lets out a moan, a warning sound that she's hurtling into the orgasm zone a little ahead of schedule, so he scales back just enough to bring her down. Just enough so she can hear his fantasy. "Come in the water."

It's a double-entendre and he knows it. "Come with me in the water."

Before she can quite comprehend Booth steps back into the bath, holding out his hand in invitation. To his delight, his sexually dazed partner places her palm in his. He pulls her in, pulls her down with him and she hisses as the cooling water hits her and cools her off.

"This isn't going to work," she insists. There's an edge of doubt and fear under-cutting her desire, and from the way she's glancing around Booth wonders if she might never have copulated in water before. It turns him on all the more, thinking he's going to be the first man she does this with.

"Come here." The same thing he's been saying all night. Booth widens his thighs and scoots into the middle, inviting her to straddle him with her legs wrapped around his back. The moment her breasts come within reach he begins to suckle, sweeping his palms over her ass and pulling her body into alignment. Warm water swirls between them, over him, welcoming and sensual as the waves lap and tickle.

Unconsciously, she arches her back and lifts her breasts higher. Just when she's gasping from the pleasure his mouth is lavishing on those sensitive nipples Booth presses downward on her ass, impaling her sharply. The contrast between lukewarm water and hot, silky Bones gripping him is nearly his undoing.

It's nearly hers, too. He feels her body jolt, feels her shudder in his hands. Lifting her off, he plunges deep again, feeling the slide from warm to hot, warm to hot as he glides in and out.

"Oh…"

Within minutes her face registers stunned bliss, as if feeling such intense pleasure was not one of her expectations. She's gone past words as she rides him, the water splashing out of bounds, her breasts rising and falling before his eyes. It's one of the most erotic experiences of his life and he wants to share it with her, all the ways he's wanted to do bad things in a bath tub with her.

"I've imagined this so many ways, Bones. You kiss me, then you drink my beer."

Maybe she's not so far beyond words after all because at that she coughs and jerks her head down, meeting his gaze squarely with a perplexed pause in the action. "Wha— Are you referring to fellatio?"

Oh well, there's that permutation also but it isn't what he was thinking. Booth gives her a rapacious grin. "No, I meant literally."

He imagines her silky pink lips lapping at drips of beer oozing from the straw. Just the imagery makes him surge within her.

This does not go unnoticed by his partner, who is nothing short of bemused by it all. "You find the fantasy of me drinking beer out of your hat … arousing."

"Oh hell yeah."

"But that's ridiculous."

It's _his_ fantasy, he can imagine her drinking freckle juice if he wants. Before she can finish challenging the inherent sexiness of her actions in _his_ fantasy Booth is pulling her closer, nuzzling the next of his many desires in her ear while their bodies sink even closer together. "Sometimes, after you kiss me you take me in your hand and start pumping. You squeeze so tight I think I'm gonna explode because nothing's gonna escape that grip you get on me. I come in a blaze of glory when you give me the pump action."

She halts all movement, watching him swallow down a bolt of lust with lush and feminine humor. "You fantasize that I drink your beer, and squeeze you too tight?"

"I like everything you do."

A smirk. "No you don't."

"Don't argue with a man while you're fucking him, Bones."

"You love it when I argue with you…."

He pulls her into another series of searing kisses, one spare hand finding that reset button again and flicking it to attention. "Sometimes you put that mouth to better use, baby."

She bites his lip.

Not too hard, just enough to make him twitch and laugh. "Not like that."

"Oh…? Then how," she purrs, finally getting into this. Mostly he suspects she's curious since this is the first time he's opened up about the very long, very _detailed_ list of fantasies she's starred in over the years.

"You go down on me."

She's not impressed. "We've done that many times."

"Under the water," he adds.

"Is that even possible?"

"Can you hold your breath three minutes under there…?" Ever since she made that remark about 'Mark the miraculous deep sea lothario,' he's wanted to test her stamina. Bones will sink down, that gorgeous hair floating around her like a mermaid, her talented mouth making magic on his member.

Her eyes widening as she remembers exactly what he's referring to, the woman who's rarely embarrassed flushes pink. It's not just the heat and exertion, it's the idea itself going for a dive in her mind. She's looking a little bit intrigued and he loves her for it. "Do you want me to try?"

He grins, already penciling the interlude in for later in the week. "Next time."

"What makes you think there's going to be a next time…."

"There will be," he asserts confidently, "if I make it worth your while _this_ time."

To that end he pulls her close again.

Once again he's fingering his way, flicking and circling, finding her receptive as her body resumes gliding up and down. There's just them and the water, the slosh and sway, the convergence of pleasure, his and hers. The slower she strokes him the slower he speaks. _Sotto voce_, Booth tells her the last variant, the one that kept him awake for weeks after she first stormed into his bathroom.

"Every way I've imagined you in this tub is good. I want to try them all but the best way, the fantasy that keeps me up at night…? It's this. We're making love —slow … sweet … love— and you're looking at me just like you are right now. …Like you're about to come…."

And she is.

She's so close.

He can feel her tightening around him, see the lines of tension roping in her arched neck, the little panting gasps that give her away as she rides him hard. Their bodies slither together, the water sloshing, scrunching sounds as she shifts against the porcelain tub. Booth dances his fingers over her sweet little spot, his own mouth hanging half open at the sight.

Watching her arrive is the best part. Always.

It's always over too fast.

He wants it to last.

"Slow down," he urges. Down in the water his balls are drawing tight and he knows he's getting damn close himself. "Come on, stay with me a little longer. Look at me."

"No…"

Her strangled plea is nearly enough to break his control. Slowing his fingers against her instead Booth waits until her beautiful eyes burst open and lock on his.

"Let me see you come. Let me see it in slow motion."

"Booth…."

Oh she's right on the edge and he's right there with her. He wants to kiss her but he wants to see her and he can't do both.

"Please," she gasps. "Ungh, please…."

When it comes right down to it, a begging Bones is impossible to deny. So he pushes her. He tips her backwards, one hand supporting her back, one driving her over the brink while he slams her against him hard, fast, ferocious. Over and over. Her release rumbles around him, a ragged groan tearing from deep within her chest as she rides out the rolls of pleasure.

Seeing that, her breasts heaving, her body shuddering as her head falls back and it's Bones and she's _fucking coming_ all over him in his bathtub. … That's all it takes to tip him over. His balls tighten so fast it takes him by surprise and the explosion is supersonic. He feels himself pumping into her as wave after orgasmic wave warps everything.

He's blind, he's boneless, he's probably a dried up husk after blowing a wad like that. It's so bad — meaning so fucking _incredible _— that he can't move so he almost drops her but she catches herself and flings her body forward.

Into his arms.

Panting.

"Guh. Oh … oh … wow. Oh…"

Booth is gasping also, leaning backwards clumsily and clutching her as blood slowly trickles back upwards to regions recently neglected. "You … you alright?"

"Mmm." She's utterly limp.

And without words.

Booth finds within him a tiny smile that he presses tenderly against her temple. "Love you."

"Me, too," she murmurs, and sounds sleepy.

"You love you, too?"

"No, you." A sleepy, owlish blink. "I love you."

They stayed that way for several minutes, both content to exist together in the moment.

"So," he finally whispers, fingers stroking loving lines down her back. "Is there going to be a next time?"

"Hmmm?"

"Tub sex."

Pushing herself back she glances down at their still joined bodies, a hint of chagrin dusting her cheeks. "You were correct. Tub sex is quite satisfying."

"Ha! Told ya."

"You've done this before? With … other partners?"

"You haven't." Though it was a guess before, he's fairly certain of it now. His heart swells.

"No." Sighing she glances away, acting for all the world as if this is some sort of deficiency on her part.

"I haven't either."

That gets her. Those gorgeous eyes swing back his way, rounding with delight. "Really?"

"Really." Pulling her into another kiss he declares: "This is ours. Just ours."

Settling herself back down in his arms she hums with contentment. "Ours."

Booth settles back, thinking this is — bar none — the best sex he's ever had. And he knows why it was so intense: their history, the reason she was so angry in the first place and all the coincidences that converged to culminate in such passionate love-making. "I'm sorry for telling you to stay put in front of the other agents. I should have explained it privately, I realize that. It's just ... it kind of happened fast, all right? I wasn't ready for making a decision like that."

"You were trying to protect me. I understand."

"Good."

"I'm still mad at you, Booth."

"I know." He can live with that: angry was so much better than hurt, so much safer than dead. "I'm still glad you didn't go with us today."

His victory has a half-life of three seconds, because there's two sides to this argument: why he wanted her to stay but also, why she wanted to go. Bones touches her lips to the old bullet scar on his chest. "I know…."

~Q~

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note:<strong> Um, final exam time. So much stress. I needed a release, so... this. *blushes* Actually I'm feeling pretty good right now—hope you are, too. :D


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